


Red-Handed

by ellipsisthegreat



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsisthegreat/pseuds/ellipsisthegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time is an accident. Of course it is. Because, yeah, masturbating in your best friend/roommate's bed? Is weird. Really weird. <i>Beyond weird.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Red-Handed

_**DISCLAIMER** : Star Trek and everything affiliated with it belongs to JJ Abrams and all those other people who own it. All I own is the plot…_

The first time is an accident.

Of _course_ it is. Because, yeah, masturbating in your best friend/roommate's bed? Is weird. Really weird. _Beyond weird_.

Luckily for him (and probably Bones, too, come to think of it), Bones is gone for the weekend. That's probably why it happens, too—Jim goes out and gets drunk, stumbles back into their dorm room, collapses into the first bed he comes to, and—when no one kicks him out—loses consciousness.

And when he wakes up with a morning wood, it's just natural to reach down and jerk himself off. He's only half-awake by then, and a little hung over, and there's this fucking _awesome_ smell—peaches and pecan pie—that just speeds the process up so that it's only a few pumps before he's coming all over himself.

He realizes when he opens his eyes a few moments later that he is definitely _not_ in his bed, because _his_ bed is the one across the room that's surrounded by dirty laundry. So he gets up, feels a little guilty, and replaces Bones' sheets.

The next time it happens is much like the first, and so is the time after that. The fourth time, though, he does it on purpose. Because the smell— _Bones'_ smell—that surrounds his best friend's bed makes him come harder than almost anything else (or maybe Orion hormones don't count? He isn't sure).

It's a habit, after that. Any time Bones is gone, Jim falls asleep after masturbating in his bed, and then wakes up and jerks off again (several times, some nights).

It gets worse, over time—by their last year at the Academy, Jim is memorizing Bones' schedule and jerking himself off when Bones has class and he doesn't. He's playing a dangerous game and he knows it—there are so many things that could go wrong so easily—but he gets off on the danger, on the knowledge that Bones could walk in any moment and catch him pulling on his dick, burying his face in Bones' pillow and breathing in deep, and coming with Bones' name on his lips.

Of course, it's only a matter of time before he gets caught.

(SPACEISDISEASEANDDANGERWRAPPEDINDARKNESSANDPAGEBREAKS)

Bones is pissed off.

There's a huge storm brewing of San Francisco ('Sunny San Francisco' his ass), which prompts his professor to let class out early so that they will hopefully get back to their dorms before it breaks.

Bones doesn't.

He also doesn't have an umbrella because Jim broke it during some crazy escapade involving the umbrella, some rope, a bag of marbles, and three chicks from the engineering track (Bones has given up trying to understand anything Jim does).

So now his books are wet, and he is soaked through and freezing, and all he wants to do is get back to his room, pull on his flannel pajamas, curl up in his bed under about twenty blankets, and sleep for the next week.

He does, at least, get back to the room.

There's a funny noise coming from inside, and his eye twitches, because _Goddammit, Jim, I told you not to bring any of your trysts to our room_.

So he opens the door and sets his stuff down, heading to their shared bedroom with every intention of blessing out Jim and whatever floozy he has dared to bring into Bones' space.

He doesn't get past the doorway.

Jim is in his— _his_ , Bones', Dr. Leonard H. McCoy's—bed, on his knees with his forehead pressed into the pillow, legs spread wide, keening as one hand pulls at his dick and the other presses exploratory fingers into his anus.

"Bones."

Bones jumps at the sound of his name, thinking he's been caught watching—and, yeah, that's totally his penis sticking out against his too-wet, too-tight pants.

"Bones, please, harder." Jim whines, turning his face toward the door, and Bones sees that his eyes are clenched tightly shut. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

His jaw drops, and his dick jumps, and a shiver runs up his spine, and he's just about to walk in and fuck the ever-loving shit out of his roommate when Jim lets out a strangled cry and comes all over the bed.

And that's when Bones' brain catches up with the rest of him and he hurries away from the room, stripping his coat off and letting it fall to the floor, stumbling out of his shoes, and throwing himself down on the couch so that it looks like he walked in and passed out. He forces his breathing to calm down and tries to get his heart to stop beating so damned fast, but it doesn't really work as he lays there, waiting for something— _anything_ to happen.

A few long minutes pass like that before there is more noise from the bedroom, and he barely stops himself from opening his eyes to watch as Jim—totally naked, probably, or maybe in boxers—leaves the room, cloth (his sheets, Bones figures) rustling against the floor. There is a short pause as Jim apparently notices him on the couch, and he hears a soft curse fall from Jim's lips before the younger man is hurrying to put the sheets in the washer and replace them with new ones.

And then, a little while after that, Jim's hand is on his shoulder.

"Bones?" Comes his whispered voice, and it's all Bones can do not to come at the thought of how that voice had been moaning that very name only a short while before. " _Bones_."

He snorts like he is being woken up (he doesn't think he's a very good actor, but Jim doesn't seem to notice). "Whazzit?"

"You fell asleep on the couch." Jim says, his blue eyes nearly black in the darkness of the apartment. "Get up and go to bed."

"Mm." Bones says—he hopes it sounds like a tired moan instead of one of a man on the cusp of orgasm. As he forces himself up (he doesn't have to fake that, because he really _is_ just about ready to pass out), he tries to think of every un-sexy thing he can imagine—his grandmother in a bikini, going back out in this storm, Jim wet and…no, wait.

Somehow or other—maybe because his clothes are still cold and wet against his flushed skin—his hard-on (reluctantly) dissipates quickly enough for things not to get terribly awkward. And now that the adrenaline is wearing off, his exhaustion is finally catching up to him, so he doesn't have to fake the arduous walk to their bedroom, or the way he flops down onto his bed.

For just a moment, he wants to call Jim on it—ask something like 'Hey, aren't these new sheets?' or 'Jim, why in the hell does my bed smell like sex?'

But he refrains, partly because he isn't sure either of them is ready for this conversation, yet, and partly because he's already almost asleep…

(WELL,IHATETOPAGEBREAKTHISTOYOU,BUTSTARFLEETOPERATESINSPACE)

Bones is more careful when he comes home, after that. If he gets out of class early, he goes to the library or for coffee until he's sure it's safe. If he can't avoid going back to the room, he calls first under the guise of picking up dinner, or something.

It works for a while, but it's only a matter of time before his luck runs out.

And then, one day, it does.

He's in a hurry—has just enough time to get a shower in between classes and clinic duty—and honestly doesn't even consider what his roommate might be up to as he bursts into the house and goes to the bedroom to grab his scrubs.

And there Jim is, frozen on the bed (Christ, he's on his back this time), staring up at him with wide eyes, both hands wrapped around his cock.

"B-Bones." Jim squeaks.

Bones surges forward before he has even fully realized what he's doing, one hand reaching out and grabbing Jim by the hair, pulling him up so that their faces are maybe an inch apart.

"I'm sorry, shit, I—" Jim is sputtering, face flushed, eyes wild.

Tightening his fingers in Jim's hair, Bones pulls him forward and slams their lips together in a forceful kiss that is all teeth and bruises.

When he pulls back Jim's pupils are blown wide with pleasure and they're both panting for air. He stares at the other man for a moment, then his eyes narrow and he brings their faces close together again, shivering at the way Jim arches up, mouth trembling with the need to kiss again.

"You're going to stay right the fuck here until I get back, understand?" He snarls, voice gravelly and far deeper than it usually is. "Don't you fucking dare leave; I'll take care of you after clinic."

Without bothering to elaborate on what he means by 'take care of you,' he drops Jim back down onto the bed and grabs his scrubs, going to the bathroom to take a rushed—and ice cold—shower before he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.

Luckily, the clinic is busy—he doesn't have time to think about what's waiting for him back at the dorm, or wonder what, exactly, is going to go down (pun intended) when he gets there. He does have time to think about it on his way back, though, and by the time he opens the door his body can't seem to decide between having a raging hard-on and running for the hills.

He pastes an irritated look on his face as he enters the bedroom, but he can only just keep it in place when he sees Jim.

Jim obviously has not left the bed since Bones left the dorm. He is still sprawled out almost in exactly the same position as he was when Bones left, shivering a little, and there is dried cum smeared across his stomach and chest. It looks like he might have tried to clean himself off, but he fell asleep before he could finish. He's still asleep.

Bones briefly considers letting him sleep, but it is _very briefly_ , because he is harder than he's ever been, goddammit, and Jim is in his goddamn bed looking thoroughly debauched and how in the hell is he supposed to walk away from this _twice_?

So he crouches next to the bed and puts his hand on Jim's cheek, putting his lips close to Jim's ear.

"How many times have you jerked yourself off in my bed, Jim?" He asks.

Jim—a light sleeper—jumps as he wakes up, one hand grabbing Bones' wrist in an iron grip born of fear and a deep self-preservation instinct. He relaxes momentarily when he realizes that Bones is Bones, but then tenses again when his brain processes what had been said.

"I-I…" He gulps.

"I could probably report you for sexual harassment." Bones muses, and sneers when Jim's eyes get big. "You're lucky I like you, you fucking idiot."

"Bones, I—"

"Shh." Bones says, putting a finger to Jim's mouth. They're both quiet for a moment before he speaks again. "I can't decide whether I want to fuck you so hard you cry or go slow."

Jim lets out a shuddering breath, and then suddenly he's smirking, like Bones' admission has completely restored his confidence (it probably has). "You say that like we're only doing this once."

That's when Bones loses it, grabbing Jim's face and kissing him. This kiss isn't as hard as the first, but it's still nowhere near gentle.

"I'm not doing anything to you 'til you take a fucking shower." He gasps out when they part.

"As long as it's a ' _fucking'_ shower." Jim says, all-too-eagerly leaping out of the bed, one of Bones' hands clasped firmly in his. He pulls Bones into another kiss and starts stripping him out of his scrubs as he maneuvers them both to the bathroom, hardly breaking stride the entire time. "Want you to fuck me so hard I've got tile marks on my face."

Bones tries to snort, but it turns into a moan halfway through as Jim goes to his knees, sucking Bones' erection into his mouth enthusiastically. Jim reaches back and starts the water, and they both hiss at the feel of cold water on their skin before it starts heating up. When Bones reaches down and grips Jim's hair in his hands Jim groans, and Bones can't help but gasp at the feeling that shoots through his prick, his hips jerking in surprise.

"Up, up, fucking _up_." He snarls, forcing Jim to his feet before the wily man can get him to come. He spins Jim around and presses him against the wall, twisting one hand behind his back and holding it there while he plunges a finger into Jim's ass. Jim lets out a soft cry and arches, and Bones leans forward so that his breath tickles Jim's jaw when he says, "Fucking loosened yourself up for me, didn't you? Christ, Jim, I can already fit two fingers in—wait, there's a third. You fuck yourself on your fingers every time you do this?"

"N-no." Jim gasps out, trying in vain to rock his hips back to meet Bones' questing fingers. "But then you said…and your voice…and I kept thinking how hard you were gonna take me, right there on the bed 'til I was raw, but I knew you'd fucking prep me you _fucking_ doct—oh!"

Bones chuckles breathily as Jim wails and bucks, angling his fingers so that they keep brushing up against Jim's prostate. "It's called _foreplay_ , Jim, and if it's done right it can be better than the actual sex." He says, pulling his hand away and smirking when Jim whines. "I'd think _you_ , of all people, would know that."

"Not now, Bones." Jim says, whining again when Bones kisses him _really well_ in spite of the awkward angle. Gasps into Bones' mouth when Bones starts finger-fucking him again, and lets out a surprised noise when Bones starts kissing a trail along his jawline and gently bites his ear. "Bones—fuck—what're you doing? Just—oh, that feels good—fucking _do me_."

Bones hums, lining himself up. "What was it you said earlier? About the tiles?"

"Fuck me so hard I've got tile marks on my—ah!" Jim lets out a strangled sob as Bones pushes in to the hilt.

"I can do that." Bones breathes into his ear, hands gripping Jim's hips so hard there are sure to be bruises, and starts to live up to his word. There's no way either of them can last long like this—they've both been waiting too long for it, even if Jim did get off earlier—and even though they try it's only a few minutes before Jim comes with a shout, Bones following soon after with a groan that goes straight to Jim's quickly softening cock.

Jim slumps forward against the wall, and Bones slumps forward against him, both of them breathing hard as they come down from cloud nine.

"You dirty rat bastard, you didn't wash a damned thing." Bones grumbles as he pulls out, rubbing dried cum off his arm grouchily.

Jim rolls his eyes and turns around, leaning back against the wall as he regards Bones thoughtfully. Just before Bones breaks down and demands what in the hell he's staring at, he says, "Since last year."

"What?"

"I've been jerking off in your bed since last year." He says. "Since that conference in…uh, one of those countries that ends with –stan."

"Kyrgyzstan?" Bones asks, and scowls when Jim shrugs. "That wasn't even two weeks after we moved in here."

"It, uh, wasn't really on purpose." Jim says. "The…first few times…"

Bones' eyes narrow, but eventually he just sighs. "Goddammit, Jim."

"Your bed smells good." Jim mumbles, pouting.

"So you _masturbate_ in it?" Bones asks. "Most people would…I don't know, ask what shampoo I use."

"Bones, we use the same shower. I _know_ what shampoo you use."

" _Really_ fucking lucky I like you."

Jim grins and reaches up, putting his arms around Bones' neck, pressing their foreheads together. "I love you, too, Bones."

Bones snorts again and he kisses the corner of Jim's mouth, then moves to the fading tile marks on Jim's cheeks.

"Do you know how to make pecan pie?"

"We're about to have sex, and you want to know if I can make pecan pie?"

"It's totally a legitimate—we're gonna have sex again?"

"Well, you're clean, now. Mostly."

"You're so romantic, Bones, I can hardly stand it."

"In about twenty seconds you won't be able to stand at all, you crazy bastard."

The End.


End file.
